A World Gone Crazy
by Thalanee
Summary: A collection of drabbles, short stories and arcs, belonging with some written in an AU for the prowlxjazz-challenge. Chapter 2: There's a reason Jazz wanted Prowl to learn about creative ways in self- defense
1. Chapter 1

Tattoo

Author: Thalanee

Verse: A World Gone Crazy (AU-Bayverse)

Word Count: ca. 1500 words

Rating: nc17 (because I'm paranoid that way)

Warnings: Ratchet cursing, Jazz obsessing, crack by the ton… need I say more? No eating or drinking, for the sake of your poor keyboard, ok? Just in case…

Disclaimer: Sadly, they still don't belong to me.

Summary: To say that Jazz loved Prowl's new alt mode would have been the understatement of the vorn, but there was one detail about it, he just couldn't get enough of.

Author's Notes: I have no idea where this came from… If you want to see more of this verse, pm me or say so in a review, give me a prompt of some kind, and I will see if the bunnies are biting :D I can't promise anything but I'll try.

This takes place just after Prowl's arrival on Earth and before their bonding. Not much of a plot, I know, but the bunny wouldn't leave me alone.

XXXXX

Jazz was in heaven.

Dreamily he let his optics wander over the new armour now hugging Prowl's frame in the most irresistible way. The SIC had been beautiful before, but now he was positively gorgeous and he was all Jazz's.

An appreciative sigh escaped the saboteur as he committed every single detail of the black and white chassis to memory. The tactician was mostly white with black hips, forearms and pedes, his chest armour a ruby red, all of it accentuated here and there with a splash of gold. And then there were so many details that captured Jazz's attention again and again, like the red chevron with the gold base, that drew the viewer's attention to the unusual golden optics, or the regal, pristinely white wings perfectly poised to make the tactician look more intimidating. A tiny red arrow was placed dead centre on Prowl's hips, making Jazz's servos itch to touch.

It was all similar to what Prowl had looked like on Cybertron, but Jazz had to admit humans really knew how to built cars, because the tactician's alt mode, a Chevrolet Camaro police racer, made Jazz's mouth water and he wasn't even a human!

But the detail he loved the most were the white letters on the black hips spelling "To Protect and Serve". White letters on black hips, now if that wasn't distracting. Azure visor flaring and engine revving Jazz imagined tracing every single one of the delightful letters…

"You did not hear a single word of what I said, did you."

Snapping out of his haze, Jazz registered the faint giggles and not really suppressed snorts from the other bots who were also attending this meeting, as well as their human partners' laughter. All of them were looking on expectantly, waiting to see what would happen next. The Cybertronian equivalent of someone clearing their throat brought his attention back to the speaker. When had Prowl moved to stand right in front of him and how come he hadn't noticed the tactician obviously trying to get his attention? Oh right, all of his attention had been focused on something else…

Grinning roguishly, Jazz replied. "Ah'm wounded, Sparkles, and there Ah was paying attention to every little detail." True. It might not have been the meeting he was supposed to have focused on, but he had paid attention.

The tactician arched an optic ridge. "In that case I am positive you will not mind my asking for your expertise on the matter." Arms folded across his chest plates, Prowl shifted his weight to one ped.

The motion was the saboteur's undoing, because it meant that the doorwinger was unconsciously pushing out his hips a little as part of it, drawing Jazz's gaze once again to the white letters now glinting prettily in the light in the saboteur's humble opinion. Riveted as he was by the sight he just mumbled his consent to Prowl's request.

Shifting again, Prowl narrowed his golden optics at Jazz. He just knew his lover was drifting of and now he would catch him in the act. "How about we just waltz into the Nemesis through the front door?"

No protest, just a nod, so Prowl continued. "Maybe we should Wheeljack have a go at those doors with his most unstable explosives." Even the mentions of explosives the saboteur usually loved so much didn't garner more than a hum and another nod. It was time for desperate measures it seemed. Deliberately ignoring the guffawing and sniggering in the background, Prowl continued.

"Of course the plan also involves painting Megatron pink and capturing Starscream so we can use him as the base's new alarm siren. The old one isn't quite screechy enough." Muffled laughter erupted from somewhere behind him as someone probably pictured the scene… but no reaction from Jazz, apart from a dreamy smile Prowl was somehow sure had nothing to do with what he'd just said. What was Jazz looking at anyway?

Stepping closer he tried to follow Jazz's gaze, the task made harder by that inscrutable visor. Moving about slightly he followed the subtle movements of Jazz's head, until he was reasonable sure that Jazz was staring… at his hips? Testing the theory he shifted his stance slightly, and surely, Jazz's visor followed the most miniscule movement as if tied to Prowl's hips by an invisible thread.

Sideswipe hadn't painted or stuck anything on him, had he? Throwing a look at the silver twin who was giddily watching the show he looked down at his hips to check. He wouldn't put it past the troublemaker. However there was nothing there that shouldn't be. Moving this way and that he checked again. Still nothing.

Except for the writing that was part of his alt mode. Absently tracing a finger over the letters he couldn't have missed the sudden revving of Jazz's engines even if he hadn't listened. Scowling Prowl moved closer and waved a hand in front of his mate's face, once again snapping him out of his daydreams.

"Would you care to enlighten me as to what is so fascinating about a piece of decoration belonging to my altmode?"

"Just enjoying the view, Sparkles. Never thought ya'd ever get a tattoo." He made a movement to touch said "tattoo", but the tactician stepped back just out of reach of Jazz's questing servos.

"I do not have a tattoo, as you well know, Jazz. It is a human method of decorating one's exterior not applicable to Cybertronians."

"Ah beg ta differ. A tattoo is a marking on the skin, in our case armour, for decorative purposes, an' that writing is purely decoration. Gorgeous decoration Ah might add. That white on black…" Purring Jazz reached out again to snag Prowl, only to have his query sidestep him again.

"You mean to tell me that every time you drifted off in this meeting it was because you were busy staring at some lines of writing?" Prowl still did not understand what was so fascinating about those letters. He had kept them, because the motto summed up his beliefs and reasons for joining the Autobots, but he'd never have thought his mate would be so fascinated by them.

"Not some lines o' writin', Prowler," Jazz tut-tuted. "Your tattoo." Looking at it again, Jazz reached out again, murmuring. "Just lemme touch…"

"As fascinating as this discussion is, if you want to frag each other, go get a room." Ratchet called.

The two mates froze and turned to the chartreuse medic, intending to tell him to stay out of it, but stopped when their surroundings fully registered. Their audience was rather large, it seemed like every single bot and human currently on base was there, watching them.

Only now they noticed that some bots and humans had obviously distributed what looked like human popcorn and … energon goodies eerily reminiscent of the previously mentioned human food. And why was Smokescreen paying Optimus, Ironhide and Ratchet? Never mind that, what was Sideswipe doing with a human camera?

"Have you ever heard of tact, Ratchet?" Prowl inquired pointedly.

"Nope, can't say I have." The medic smirked.

"In that case I suggest you look up the term in the dictionary I presented you with for that very purpose."

"Where would be the fun in that?" Ratchet retorted. Pit, arguing with the tactician was fun.

"Now," the Prime's deep voice interrupted their snarking match before it could get started (Primus knew, once they did get started, they could keep going for hours), "enough entertainment for today, my friends. Why don't we continue this meeting, so we can finish."

Groans and less than enthusiastic mutters greeted the proposal but soon enough everyone was back in their seats. Satisfied, Prowl nodded and moved to sit down in his own chair, never noticing his mate kicking away his chair and swinging into its place in one fluid motion, only realizing what had happened when he found himself right in the saboteur's lap and one of Jazz's arms snaked around his waist.

Throwing his mate a look Prowl only got an unrepentant grin in answer. Resigning himself to his fate, Prowl went back to concentrate on the meeting, a task made all the more difficult, because Jazz's fingers were busy ghosting over the white lines of Prowl's tattoo.

Yes, Jazz was in heaven.

XXXXX

To Be Continued Or Not…

I can't help but picture Jazz like a cat with a ball of yarn XD

Funny? Not funny? The ending was a bit sudden I know… Let me know ^^ Constructive criticism is more than welcome.


	2. Chapter 2

Protective Instincts

Author: Thalanee

Verse: A World Gone Crazy (Movie- AU)

Word Count: 3000 words

Rating: nc-17

Warnings: some violence

Disclaimer: I certainly wish they were mine, but sadly they are not…

Summary: Prequel to "On the Proper Use Of Datapads". There is a very specific reason Prowl learned how to use his pads as shurikens when Jazz insisted… Just after the start of the war, beginning JazzxProwl.

Author's Notes: For renegadewriter8 who once prompted me to write this in a comment on "On The Proper Use of Datapads" for the September Challenge. Better late than never ;D

XXXXX

Prowl still wasn't used to the spacious new office that was his, now that he had been promoted to the position of Chief Tactical Officer. It was almost three times as big as his old office had been and even had an adjacent room with a plush chair and a large couch to relax when he was working late. There even was an energon dispenser and a large tactical planning table.

But the feature that grabbed most of his attention was something, or rather someone, else. Ever since they had first met, the Chief of Special Operations, a handsome silver mech named Jazz, and he had quickly become friends despite or maybe because of their different personalities and now the saboteur seemed to spend a disproportional amount of time in Prowl's office instead of his own, working of Prowl's desk, or simply sitting in the chair opposite Prowl's humming or reading. It was strange really, because it should have annoyed Prowl to no end, but once when Jazz had been away on a mission Prowl had found himself missing the taller mech's presence.

That he had no idea why was annoying.

Currently the silver form was lounging in his usual chair, just watching Prowl work. He seemed to enjoy that. When Prowl had asked him what was so fascinating about watching him type and read datapads, the cryptic reply he got about enjoying the view confused Prowl even more. There wasn't even a window behind him and no picture on the wall. It was a puzzle.

But one he enjoyed as much as he did his new work. Here he could finally accomplish something useful. He could help the new Prime end the war before it got worse than it already was and help fight the corruption that had grown in Cybertron's government. So he threw himself into his work determined to give everything he had. It was something Jazz and he wholeheartedly agreed on.

"Hey Prowler, ya want a cube?" Which was the saboteur's way of asking, if he had eaten anything already. That was another reason the silver mech had taken it upon himself to stay glued to the black and white. Sometimes, alright almost always, Prowl got so caught up in his work he forgot everything around him, even his own physical needs. That he didn't even feel hungry when he should be eating something didn't help him keep track. So once Jazz had realized that he always prodded Prowl to have a cube when he thought Prowl needed one. And he wouldn't stop until the doorwinger had finished at least one.

Looking up, Prowl sheepishly tried to remember when he last had something to eat. "I think some energon would be beneficial. Shall I get you a cube too?"

When he made a motion to get up however, Jazz tsked and stood up. "That's not what Ah meant. Ya stay where ya are, Ah'm gonna go get us some cubes of the batch Sides made just yesterday."

"You know very well, that I do not drink highgrade, Jazz. Besides, there is a perfectly functional dispenser in the side room of my office. There is no need to go to the rec room for energon." Prowl had only made the mistake of taking in highgrade once and found out just how much it messed up his systems. He was not keen on repeating the experience.

Jazz waved a servo in a placating manner. "Ain't highgrade, Ah know ya don't like that, but it sure tastes good, better than the stuff ya got in ya dispenser. Tell ya what, we'll compromise!" The ever present grin on Jazz's face grew wider.

"Compromise?" the tactician asked wearily. Prowl had learned that Jazz's definition of the word compromise was vastly different from everyone else's. If Jazz proposed a compromise it meant you usually ended up doing what he wanted you to do, even if you didn't realize it. Prowl would not be outmaneuvered.

"Ya finish that pad while Ah'm gone to get those cubes and then we'll play a few rounds o' Commando."

"Do I even want to know about the other option?" Prowl answered, his golden optics twinkling with mirth.

"Ah, that involves a trip to the rec room on ma shoulder." Jazz reply was completely deadpan. Prowl wasn't quite sure, whether it was supposed to be a joke, or if he meant it. Better not to take chances. Besides he loved their gaming sessions.

"In that case I will choose option number one."

Jazz grin turned even broader (for a split second Prowl was worried the silver mech's face plates might break). "Great, Ah'll be back in few." With that, he almost literally bounced out of the office to get the promised cubes.

Once he was alone in his office he allowed the small smile to break through full force. Taking one look at the datapad in his hands, he finished it in record time and was soon busy setting up the game board and waiting for Jazz's return, when a small sound captured his attention.

However, when he turned around to look, there was nothing there. Attributing the noise of metal on metal to his overactive imagination, he dismissed it and was about to settle down in his chair again.

Suddenly he was grabbed from behind. Rough hands yanked on one of his doorwings, causing a flash of hideous pain, and clamped down on his vocalizer so he couldn't even cry out.

"Lords Megatron and Shockwave send their regard," a malevolent voice whispered into one of his audios, while sharp claws ripped into his doorwing. The message sent cold dread through his chassis, he knew if he didn't do something he would be dead soon.

He struggled, he fought, kicked the mech holding him, tried to writhe out of the other's grasp, but he was no fighter.

Prowl couldn't stop the blade moving towards his body.

XXXXX

Jazz virtually danced along the hallways on his way back to Prowl.

At first he hadn't even noticed, but from the moment they were introduced to each other, he'd had eyes for no one and nothing but Prowl. He could lose himself in watching the minute flutters of those delectable doorwings, he reveled in finding new ways to make those exotic golden optics shine with suppressed laughter, or outright make the mech laugh (the sound was delightful to the saboteur's audios). Their battles of wit were the best he'd ever had, and the funniest, once he got Prowl to show his dry sense of humor.

Sometime along the way he had realized that he was falling for the tactician and found he didn't mind at all. Quite to the contrary if the flutters in his spark were any indication.

Reaching the door, he quickly entered the code and bounced into the room, expecting to find Prowl sitting behind his desk, giving him that small precious smile and fluttering his wings (it was incredibly cute considering that Prowl obviously didn't notice he was doing it).

So when he saw a black and grey mech with Decepticon insignia stand over Prowl, who was lying on the floor, saw him aim a dagger at Prowl's spark, he ignored the sound of the door automatically closing, ignored the Decepticon's threats.

Jazz only saw the damage to Prowl's chassis, heard the pained sounds, _felt_ the distress radiating from Prowl.

And something inside him snapped.

XXXXX

The big black mech stomped down the officer's hall on his way to the Prime's office. Optimus had been in there too long already, and Ironhide wouldn't stand for it. The young Prime was too much of a workaholic when no one watched him (the only mech here who was worse was their new tactician, the kid made the Prime look lazy in comparison) and made sure he'd take a break. Ironhide was the sworn protector of the Prime and he'd be damned if he let the mech work himself into the ground.

He didn't reach his destination however.

Passing the door to Prowl's office, he heard deep growls, an unknown voice cursing. He heard the sounds of a fight. The moment he came to that conclusion he acted.

Kicking down the door the sight that greeted his optics nearly made Ironhide's spark stop.

Prowl was lying motionless on the floor, his chassis deadly still. The golden optics were dimmed and energon was flowing from a wound on his middle. For an agonizing moment Ironhide almost thought the doorwinger was dead, but soon he noticed the small signs that told him Prowl was still alive: the faint whirring of intakes, the occasional twitching of a damaged wing and an almost inaudible moan of pain.

Relieved he allowed himself to take in the rest of the scene. An unknown black and grey mech wielding a dagger still dripping energon was slowly backing away, and for good reason. Because the silver form crouched protectively over Prowl with his claws raised, snarling menacingly was barely recognizable anymore as the usually chipper and good-natured saboteur. This wasn't just a mech anymore. He was a predator.

And that predator was out for energon, energon that belonged to the bot who had caused the wounds on the black and white chassis of _HIS_ Prowl. Before Ironhide could even take one more step into the room, Jazz had already charged at the assassin, visor darkened into a blue that was almost black, his claws slashing through cabling and ripping of armour plates, the Decepticon's cries soon silenced.

Frozen Ironhide could only watch, keeping anyone else from entering the room and throwing Jazz even deeper into this protective frenzy. Only a few clicks had passed before Jazz stepped back from the unmoving mass on the floor. The Weapon Master stared.

The Con was still alive and aware of his surroundings, but trapped in his own chassis, unable to move a single limb or even speak.

Meanwhile Jazz was back at Prowl's side his silver fingers ghosting ever so carefully over Prowl's chassis, searching for injuries, growling whenever his questing fingers encountered the slightest scratch, seething when he pressed the bandage over the wound on the tactician's abdomen to slow down the bleeding. Ironhide had already called Ratchet and could hear the medic's engines and sirens coming closer. He would be arriving in a few clicks.

When the black mech stepped closer to check on Prowl the saboteur growled at him, his fields warning the other to stay away, displaying a fierce protectiveness Ironhide had seldom seen before. Ratchet was right, Jazz had fallen for Prowl hard.

Knowing the Praxian to be safe with Jazz, Ironhide backed off, acknowledging the silver mech's claim, and instead elected to stand guard over the downed Decepticon. The assassin wouldn't be able to move again without medical treatment, but it was better to be on the safe side anyway. Jazz might reconsider his decision to let Prowl's attacker live.

Ironhide need not have worried about that, however. All of Jazz's senses were focused on Prowl. Megatron could have strolled through the door right now announcing his attention to bond with Optimus Prime, if he wasn't a threat to Prowl, Jazz would never notice. The saboteur had had lovers before, but he had never felt such a possessive rage, such a fierce need to protect towards any of them like he now felt for Prowl. Just thinking about the Praxian made his spark sing and being as close as he was now, he knew that he would never want someone else. He wanted Prowl.

The screech of tires heralded Ratchet's arrival and the chartreuse mech promptly stormed into the office, only to find himself snarled at for getting too close too fast. If the situation weren't so serious the medic would have laughed at the saboteur. For now though he simply concentrated on stepping carefully around the silver mech.

"Stay close, while I have a look at that wound." Ratchet ordered. Better to channel Jazz's energy into protecting, than letting him run around while he was still in this state. And by the looks of it, the tactician wouldn't mind either, if the white hand resting so close to a silver one was any indication. Same for the look in those semi-aware golden optics.

While Jazz took hold of said white servo and gently stroked Prowl's cheek, Ratchet checked Prowl's injuries. The wound on his abdomen wasn't deep enough to be life-threatening, but it was painful, as were the injuries to the mech's sensitive doorwings. They just had too many sensors for them not to hurt. The bleeding had almost stopped already, but the sudden damage and the sheer amount of pain had thrown the tactician into a kind of shock he was slowly coming out of.

Pulling a syringe with painkillers from his subspace, he tried to grab Prowl's other servo- and Jazz tried to bite him! The medic just managed to snatch his hand away in time, or else he would have had a silver head firmly attached to it by his denta. And the medic would have bet his stash of premium highgrade that Jazz wouldn't just have gnawed at it like he did when he was a sparkling…

For his part, Jazz didn't really see what the medic intended to do, since his processors had taken a vacation ever since he had entered the office, he just saw someone trying to stab his Prowl with something sharp and pointy.

His efforts earned him a hefty wrench to the helm, aloud clank reverberating through the room. Ironhide would have paid good credits for the show. Right now he had to fight not to give in to the irrational giggle fit that was trying to claw its way out of his vocalizer, watching the medic and the saboteur snarling at each other.

Judging by the look on his face, Jazz was almost offended that he'd been hit. Couldn't Ratchet see that he was only protecting Prowl like he was supposed to? And now he even snarled back!

"You want to protect him, that's fine by me," Ratchet growled, wielding another wrench and waving it in the saboteur's face, "but I will not have you interrupt while I'm treating one of my charges. I'm going to administer those painkillers now, and if you dare to do more than think about biting my hand again, I will reformat you into an office chair!" Pausing he added, "If you behave I will let you carry him to medbay."

At that Jazz perked up, slowly coming down from his protective rage. If it meant being allowed to stay close he would behave. Let them try to keep him away from what was his! All through the rest of the preliminary treatment he watched the medic like a turbo hawk, never ceasing his caresses.

"Alright, you can hold him now, but be careful with his wings, they are a bit oversensitive right now, if you touch them it will hurt, since those painkillers need a little time to take full effect." The chartreuse mech instructed his one-bot audience. "Once in med bay you can place him on one of the more separate berths. I know Prowl prefers privacy."

Cradling the tactician to his chestplates, Prowl's head tucked underneath his chin, Jazz followed the medic's orders and carried him to medbay, while Ironhide waited with the downed 'Con for the security teams. Along the way they didn't meet many mechs, but those who they came across took one look at the storm brewing behind that still black visor and decided to take themselves and their curiosity elsewhere. When he had arrived and the time came to lay the doorwinger down on one of the berths, he found himself very reluctant to let go.

Only the knowing grin on the medic's face prompted him to do so… but he didn't go very far. In fact he was almost perching over the berth, his optics on its occupant. The tactician looked so vulnerable lying there, connected to a drip and a monitor (just in case), bandages on his chassis. The need to touch became overwhelming, so at the first opportunity he came closer again and held Prowl's servo in one of his own. His visor never leaving Prowl's face, waiting for those golden optics to light up again from drug induced recharge.

He never noticed Optimus Prime entering medbay, never saw the smile on the big mechs face as he left the two alone again, knowing his presence wasn't necessary.

XXXXX

Prowl awoke feeling safe.

His processors still were foggy, which he attributed to the painkillers he distantly remembered Ratchet administering, but he could remember the attack, the feeling of helplessness. But he also remembered the hope when he saw Jazz enter the room.

He remembered the feeling of safety washing over him, when Jazz was close, how right it felt to be held close to that silver chassis, right where he could hear and feel the pulse of that spark.

And he wouldn't miss the touch of that silver servo surrounding his own white one for anything in the world.

So when he opened his optics and found himself surrounded by Jazz's arms, carefully embraced close to the taller mech's chassis, when he looked into that azure visor closely watching him, he knew he would never be alone again.

To Be Continued


	3. Chapter 3

Learning By Throwing

Author: Thalanee

Verse: A World Gone Crazy

Word Count: ca. 1800 words

Rating: pg-13

Warnings: crack as usual XD

Disclaimer: I only wish they were mine, but sadly Transformers don't belong to me.

Summary: When Ratchet and Jazz join forces to teach Prowl their own brand of self defense the result can't be anything short of spectacular.

Author's Notes: For those of you who wondered about Prowl's self defense lessons after "Protective Instincts" (the ones mentioned in "On The Proper Use of Datapads) ;D I hope you like it!

XXXXX

"Do you not think that you are just a bit overzealous?" After his brush with permanent deactivation courtesy of a Decepticon assassin Prowl was more than willing to learn how to defend himself, but what Jazz was proposing right now seemed to be just a little excessive, even for the silver saboteur. Currently the pair was standing alone in the deserted shooting range (Jazz had made sure there would be no disturbances, he had said, and now Prowl understood why).

"Nope." Jazz crossed his arms, remaining unrelenting. Prowl had approached Ironhide for fighting lessons already, and was also being trained in armed combat, but Jazz wanted to be absolutely sure his mate could defend himself even if he had no obvious weapons at hand. He would teach Prowl every trick in his arsenal, however unconventional, to be sure the tactician would not be injured like that again. His spark still clenched painfully at the reminder of Prowl's near death.

"I understand the lessons in marksmanship with Ironhide. I see the need in hand to hand combat training with you and Ironhide, even for the sword-fighting lessons with Sabre, but this?" A white slightly clawed finger, a sign of mixed Autobot and Decepticon heritage, pointed at the assorted weaponry arrayed in front of him, the motion clearly conveying his doubt. They looked so little, so innocent, lying there on the table. How on Cybertron would Prowl be able to fight using _these_?

"Ya ain't always goin' ta have a sword or a gun on servo, so I want ya ta be able to clobber your opponents with what's at hand." Jazz took hold of one of Prowl's servos and held it between his own. Ever since the tactician had woken up after the assassination attempt, the two had nearly been inseparable, especially after they both finally confessed to their feelings for the other (much to the delight of Ratchet and Optimus, who apparently had won an unholy amount of credits from Smokescreen's betting pool). "I want ta know ya'll be save, even when I'm not there. 'Specially when I'm not there." He pressed a chaste kiss to the centre of Prowl's chevron, earning a purr from the other.

A barely there smile appeared on Prowl's face. "I love you too… Jazzy." It still felt a little strange to say these words, but so right at the same time. And he would probably never get used to saying them or hearing them directed at himself.

Hearing the nickname from Prowl, he couldn't help but grin broadly, uncaring if it looked silly. "Love ya even more." Leaning down, he softly kissed Prowl on the lips, relishing that he was finally able to do so. His grin turned mischievous. "But that don't mean ya'll get out of this lesson."

"I know." Prowl sighed, his doorwings twitching slightly.

"Then why tha question?" Jazz cocked his head to the side questioningly.

"While I do not dispute the fact that your argument is valid, I cannot help but wonder at your choice of weapon." The tactician stated drily, slanting another look at the gleaming items on the table.

"I don't know why, those things have perfect balance, ya always have some, ya can use them across distances and in close combat, they're sturdy, easy ta hide in case ya get captured and need ta hide your weapons, and pit, ya can even upgrade them ta suit your needs an' nobot will ever suspect until they have one of those things stuck where it hurts." Jazz pointed out perfectly reasonably and with a completely straight face. It took effort but he managed it.

"You have already taught me how to disable opponents with my chair or desk, how to immobilize them with a stylus, never mind the high-speed maneuver for restraining someone with a roll of duct tape during a fight in a matter of clicks, and countless other tricks I have never heard of before. After all those, this seems rather superfluous." Shifting his weight slightly, Prowl had to admit that Jazz was actually right.

But still… fighting Decepticons with datapads?

"Oh, to the contrary, love, this is the best part!" The silver mech almost hopped up and down in giddy excitement. "Look, I even brought ya some already upgraded pads ta train with."

He picked up the first datapad and thrust it into Prowl's hands. It looked like any other datapad the black and white had ever seen. The why did it weigh a lot more than it should?

Jazz explained. "This one still looks normal, but it's reinforced and nearly unbreakable. And this one," he indicated another pad still lying on the table, "is less heavily reinforced, but sharpened, so ya can use it as a cutting tool. And ma personal favorite is this one." The saboteur looked expectantly, almost like a youngling, as he handed it to Prowl for closer inspection.

The datapad was of normal size and weight, but it was bent and slightly curved. "It looks rather strange. I assume it has been fashioned in this shape for a specific purpose?" Prowl inquired, his curiosity awakened.

"Yep. If ya throw it, it comes back."

Was it just Prowl or had Jazz just giggled? And had he really heard right? "I beg your pardon?"

"Ma best creation, tha returning datapad!" Jazz struck a ridiculous pose, holding the pad up. "It works like those youngling toys, ya know? The ones ya throw and then they circle and fly back ta ya automatically?"

Lips twitching slightly, he gave up. "I am not going to win this argument, am I?"

"Nope, Prowler." The saboteur looked inordinately pleased with himself. He had reason to be, after all he usually lost his arguments with Prowl. Not that he minded, he really loved their battles of will and wit.

"Still, Jazz. Datapads?" Now it was Prowl's turn to stifle a laugh.

"I already told ya, those things are perfect!"

"Alright, you win, Jazz." Laughing outright, Prowl raised his servos in surrender.

Jazz jumped up whooping and pumped his fist. "Sweet!"

"So what exactly am I supposed to do with this?" Prowl picked up one of the less heavily reinforced pads and turned it over in his servos, testing the weight and getting used to the feel of them.

"Don' ask meh, mech."

As the deceivingly innocent tone registered, Prowl raised his head from the inspection of his newest weapon and looked up at Jazz, who was still grinning. "…Aren't you the one who is teaching me?"

"Nope, he is." Jazz pointed at someone behind him. When he turned to look the first thing he noticed was the chartreuse colour of the mech's chassis he could have seen from miles away on the battlefield. They couldn't be serious?

Prowl stared, not quite sure if he should start running. "You are joking."

Ratchet answered that question for Jazz, while he stepped closer, absently toying with one of his ever present wrenches. "We're absolutely serious. I'm not putting your sorry chassis back together so you can go and get yourself injured because you weren't taught by the best." A disconcerting smirk was directed at the other two bots. "And when it comes to throwing improvised weapons, I'm the best."

If looked at that way, Prowl couldn't help but agree that it made sense, even his battle computer seemed to agree. "Indubitably…," he replied hesitantly, before deciding. "Let us proceed then before I come to my senses."

And so Ratchet began to teach his new pupil the art of throwing whatever came to servo at moving targets, an art the medic had apparently perfected over the vorns. Under Ratchet's competent guidance an hour later Prowl was able to hit a target from a considerable distance, though it would probably take a long time until he would be able to match the medics uncanny, almost scary ability to hit anything, anywhere he wanted to.

Which added another reason on his growing list of "Reasons why you should not mess with the CMO".

"You almost got it Prowl." Ratchet announced, after Prowl had hit a mech sized target in a location that had made Jazz wince in sympathy. The saboteur was beginning to wonder if this had really been a good idea, because giving it another couple of orns of training Prowl would be as good as Ratchet. Shuddering he imagined what could happen if the two of them teamed up. Luckily that wouldn't happen… would it?

"Now remember, nice and easy from the hip. If you throw it right, you don't even have to throw it hard. Technique over strength!" The chartreuse mech pointed out.

The sequence started anew, and aiming carefully, Prowl threw the datapad exactly like the medic had shown him, hitting the mech sized target right in the face, where the datapad actually stuck, the force of the impact making the figure rattle.

Ratchet applauded. "That's it! You're a quick study," the medic patted the tactician on the shoulder to compliment him. "You're free to go for today. But I recommend training exercises once a decacycle at least, so you can improve your aim."

At that Jazz piped up from his vantage point beside Prowl. "So how come Ah never see ya at the shooting range?"

Ratchet looked at Jazz, then answered in a tone that clearly conveyed he thought the answer was obvious. "Why bother going to the shooting range once a decacycle when I have stupid mechs, who deserve a bang to the helm, barge into my medbay every cycle?"

While Jazz gaped at the medic, Prowl spoke up, "That is a pity."

Ratchet turned to look at the smaller mech who regarded him thoughtfully. "Why?"

"I was rather looking forward to a joint training exercise." Prowl explained, indicating the shooting range with a movement of his servo.

The medic paused to think for a moment. "… Deal. I'll bring my wrenches."

"And I shall bring some paperwork. Shall we meet the same time next decacycle?"

"Pit, yeah. This is gonna be so much fun!" Ratchet exclaimed, as the tactician and the medic made their way out of the shooting range side by side.

"Indeed." Prowl actually laughed, as the doors closed between the two officers and the saboteur still sitting where he had been and staring after them, his jaw almost hitting the floor as realization dawned upon him and he summarized all his thoughts and the consequences of what had happened in a single sentence.

"Good Primus, what have Ah done?"

The End (for now…more is yet to come)

Tell me what you think?


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